Kael's body moved before his thoughts could catch up.
Three shadows rushed him from the corners of the training ring. Wood-weapons blurred—staffs and curved mock-blades made to bruise, not break. One cracked against his shoulder, another swept low toward his legs. He twisted through both, rolling under a strike and coming up in a crouch, sweat clinging to him like oil.
No Bran today.
No joke to lighten the blow.
No friendly shoulder on the bench beside him.
Just cold stone, hostile glares, and that same, circling tension he'd begun to know too well.
The three recruits fanned out again.
They'd volunteered for this "sparring test." But Kael wasn't stupid—he knew it wasn't sanctioned. Someone had whispered something. Given permission with a nod and a look the instructors didn't want to see.
The tall one with narrow eyes—Merrin—stepped forward, twirling her staff lazily.
"Come on, stableboy," she called, loud enough for the others and Eline to hear. "Show us those shadows. Thought you were special, right?"
Kael said nothing. Just adjusted his stance, weight on the balls of his feet.
She grinned. "Or is that whisper in your head scared?"
The others chuckled.
Up on the side stairs, near the edge of the sand-ring, Eline stood half-shadowed beneath the archway, arms folded, not looking directly at Kael—but not leaving either.
Another Whisperer stood beside her. Older. Silver streaks in his hair. His voice didn't carry, but Kael could see his mouth moving. Calm. Measuring.
Eline didn't react much. But Kael caught her eyes flick toward the ring when Merrin feinted low.
She was watching.
Not helping.
But watching.
The second strike caught Kael in the ribs.
He grunted, breath leaving him in a hiss—but turned it into a pivot, using the pain to drop and sweep one of the recruits off her feet. She hit the ground hard, and the others circled tighter.
"You fight dirty," Merrin said.
"I fight alive," Kael snapped.
The third tried to flank him—Kael spun with a grunt, parrying with his forearm. Sparks of shadow crackled across his knuckles before he clamped them down.
Not here. Not yet.
He'd been warned: no open powers in group drills. No shadow tricks unless instructed.
But they were pushing him. Harder than the rules should've allowed.
And he was starting to wonder if that was the point.
"Your file said he's unstable," the silver-haired Whisperer murmured beside Eline.
"He's young," she replied, low and precise. "The difference matters."
"Still." The older man nodded toward the ring. "The Veil has a rhythm. You feel it in him?"
Eline didn't answer at first.
Then: "He suppresses it. Out of pride. Or fear. That makes him interesting."
"Or dangerous."
"Yes," she said. "Both."
Kael ducked a wild swing, slid behind Merrin, and wrapped his arm around her neck in a tight, breathless hold.
The other two froze.
He could feel her pulse. Her breath catching.
Could feel Tenebris stirring with approval.
"End it," the shadow whispered inside him. "Show them."
Kael's fingers twitched.
A thought crossed him—quick and red and dangerous.
He could break her arm. He could crush her throat just enough to make the others see him differently. Not as the broken boy from the stables, but as what he was now—fused with something dark and ancient.
They wanted fear?
He could give them fear.
But…
He didn't.
Kael let go.
Merrin staggered forward, gasping, one hand at her throat.
He stepped back, lowered his stance, and nodded—short and firm—toward the instructors.
"It's done."
One of the overseers blew a sharp whistle. "Enough!"
The other recruits glared.
Eline said nothing. But the silver-haired Whisperer's mouth curved in the faintest hint of interest.
Later, Kael stood alone near the edge of the courtyard, watching the shadows stretch toward the wall.
Tenebris stirred softly in his blood—less urgent now. Quieter.
"You hesitated."
"I chose."
"Not the same."
Kael didn't answer. But something settled in his gut—a wariness not just of the others, but of himself.
That night, as he lay in his cot, half-drained and staring at the stone ceiling, the memory of Eline at his door crept back.
The moment hadn't been long. A soft knock. Her eyes careful, unreadable.
She hadn't stepped in. Just stood there.
"Your name's on a mission roster," she'd said. "With mine."
He'd opened his mouth—but she'd continued before he could speak.
"I don't want this. You don't either. So unless you get injured or disqualified, we're stuck."
Her tone had been flat. Cold. Like a decision made with a dagger pressed behind it.
"Think of a reason," she'd added, quietly. "Any reason. Before they do."
Then she was gone.
No footsteps. No breath. Just shadow, and absence.
Now, lying alone, Kael turned those words over in his head like a coin.
Before they do.
They.
Not we.
Not I.
He had more enemies than he realized.
And fewer allies than he hoped.